Classic Poem

Alas! my friend, how vainly dost thou tell me,
That Reason may tranquillity restore,
And with her soft persuasive voice impel me
To check my sorrows and to sigh no more.

Ah! rather I would ask that lenient power,
Oblivious Time, some solace to impart,
Did I not feel that each revolving hour
Binds him more firmly to my aching heart:

Or I would court the silken smiles of Pleasure,
Athwart my path a cheering beam to throw;
But no! her once lov'd sounds, in sprightly measure,
Seem all discordant to the ear of Woe.

Nor mirth, nor distant space, nor change of season,
My bosom's secret anguish can remove:
All, all are vain, — but chief thy boasted Reason,
For it was she, alas! that bade me love.

His virtues, graces, genius she repeated,
And much I gloried in the heart I won;
Nor did I blush, though easily intreated,
I scarce had seen him ere I lost my own.

For to my soul she brought the sweet conviction,
That he was noble, generous, and refin'd:
Such as bright Fancy oft pourtrays in fiction,
With every charm to fascinate the mind.

Then Reason whisper'd he could ne'er deceive me,
Or with feign'd vows of tenderness beguile;
And little reck'd I that it e'er would grieve me,
To catch his looks of love, his heavenly smile.

Even now, when adverse fortune bids us sever,
Amid my sighs and tears she brings relief:
She tells me that his heart is mine for ever,
And that his virtues sanctify my grief.

Thus the heart-rending pangs of secret sadness,
Reason has nurtur'd, but can ne'er remove:
No! she must die with grief, or rave in madness,
Ere for a moment I can cease to love!